To Die Would Be An Awfully Big Adventure

"It does not do to dwell on dreams, and forget to live." – Albus Dumbledore

The door slid open and a bowl of watery broth was placed on the ground. Breakfast. A new day was starting.

She knelt in the corner of her cell, her knees tucked up to her chest. Her skin was covered in cold sweat and dirt. Her once-famous Weasley hair no longer shone bright red but hung limp and matted around her shoulders. Her body, once so nourished with Quidditch and Molly's cooking, was skinny and angular; her bones were prominent beneath her pallid skin.

Ginny Weasley placed her ragged nail against the damp wall and gouged a line into the brickwork: day six hundred and forty two. The tip of her finger had begun to bleed, and she stemmed the flow by sucking on the cut until she could no longer taste the salty tang of blood. She crawled over to her bowl. Lifting the concoction to her nose, she sniffed; it was a habit she acquired in the war and hadn't quite grown out of. What would it matter if they had poisoned her? At least it would save her having to endure the Dementor's Kiss.

She shuddered. Today was obviously going to be a day of mental clarity. She had those, occasionally. The fog of grief and despair would lift and she could think about what was happening to her and what had happened to those she'd loved. Sometimes the haze of depression and confusion was an easier state to live in. On bad days, Tom Riddle's voice seemed to echo through her mind, reminding her of what she'd done all those years ago and how, even as an adult, she'd been unable to save her friends or family. He spoke of how alone she was, and how her fate no longer rested in her hands but his.

The outside world was run by the iron fist of the "Dark Lord" and his minions. Humans had long fled the country or been killed. England was protected by impenetrable magical shields to fend off the Muggles from around the globe that were attempting to save England from its current tyrant of a leader. Apparently the heads of state were aware that Voldemort was not a normal threat; however, somewhat beautifully they refused to give up hope. Whether this was because they feared the threat spreading or because they wanted to free England once more, Ginny wasn't quite sure, but she felt it rather heartening that some had not yet given up hope. For she had lost hers long ago.

Ginny's only contact to the outside world was Draco Malfoy. It seemed he visited two or three times a week, but Ginny couldn't be sure. It appeared that frequent, but in her daze of thoughts, emotions and bouts of unconsciousness, she could not be sure of anything. He wasn't vindictive to her, or abusive like some of the purebloods that had visited in the early days. He didn't taunt her about her loved ones or force himself upon her. He merely sat and watched her in silence, or listened to her rambles, or told her of the world outside her cell. He would not often indulge her in the latter; it seemed to upset him as much as her to hear what their beloved home had become.

She often asked him why he came to her cell, and in response he would just shrug. The truth was that he didn't know why he felt compelled to visit the ever-diminishing redhead. Ginevra Weasley had somehow become his obsession; her delusions were his escape. Her presence was a part of a grand nostalgia and yearning for his childhood. For a time when there were rules and class. Dignity. Being beside her in the filth and desolation of Azkaban bizarrely reminded him he was alive and that others had fought and lost for the anarchy that now roamed through Britain.

He already mourned her; Ginny's sentence was soon to be passed. She would lose her soul in two days and he knew something in him would break to see the last of Ginevra Weasley's sanity disappear into nothingness. She would become a shell, a mere vessel, and he would too.

"Do you have it?" Ginny's words came out tentatively.

Draco sighed. He had hoped with her impending sentence she'd be unable to stay lucid for too long; however, it seemed that today she was very aware of her surroundings.

"No. Eat the rest of your breakfast, Ginevra."

The redhead glared at the blond, but the gesture held no real malice. She did not seem to have the capacity for passionate emotions anymore. Everything felt murky and uncertain. Her life was like a watercolour: pale and translucent and lacking in vibrancy.

Ginny returned to her food and ignored Draco, who had sat upon her bunk. His silk robes and coiffed hair looked devastatingly out of place, but he felt more at home there than he did in his ancestral Wiltshire manor house.

"You said you would look," she commented.

He pointedly ignored her.

"Draco." Ginny's voice was wispy and high.

"It's quite fine weather outside today, Ginevra." Draco spoke with the same clipped tone as a teacher would use when dealing with a troublesome child. "I think it'll be—"

"You promised!" Tears had started gathering in her fathomless eyes.

He said nothing, but watched as she began to quiver. Her breath had quickened and her eyes had begun to dart from left to right.

"I want it, Draco. You must be able to find it ... I need it!" Beating her fist against the wall, Ginevra began to sob. A keening wail burst from her lips. "Fred! FRED! Get out the way!"

Her body seemed to contract into itself; she was hunched and rocking before he knew what was happening. It was as though he was observing an injured animal. The erosion of her social decency and normality had created something very primal within the redhead that reacted on instinct alone.

"Ginevra." Draco knelt beside her on the floor, stroking her matted locks. "Come back to me, Weasley … come back."

"Go away, Tom. No more. You can have me ... no more."

Tom Riddle. The man who haunted Ginevra Weasley's mind and had done so since she was eleven years old. The man who caused her nightmares, who had caused her reality, who broke her beyond all others. The few strands of reason and truth that still lived within Ginny were threatened by the spectral memory of a handsome, sixteen year old boy with charming words and debonair looks. With manipulation and fear.

"Tom, Harry Potter is good. Harry Potter is wonderful ... you should not say such wicked things, Tom. Harry saved us all ... he will save me. He will come for me. My brother will come for me ... Ron! Oh, Ron ... and Mum ... I want to come home, Mum, I want to come ... home."

Draco wrapped his arms around her shuddering body. It was the first time he'd ever made this kind of physical contact with her. He held the little redhead tightly on his lap. Her long fingers knotted themselves into the fabric of his cloak. She seemed to calm somewhat at his touch and soon her breathing had regulated. She was mimicking him: breathing in and out at the same time as he. Burying her face into his shoulder, she mumbled, "Find it, Draco. Please. Find it."

Ox-

Since learning of her impending sentence, Ginny had become increasingly desperate for Draco to bring her a token from the outside world. She had never asked for anything from him before, not even a photo of her loved ones or a book. He wouldn't have been able to give her either, of course, but he had expected she would have tried to in order to make her stay in the jail a little more appealing. However, on the day the date for her Kiss had been announced, she had seemed calm, rational and of a sounder mind than he had ever seen her before. She had looked into his eyes and asked him to find her one of the shards of the mirror of Erised. Ginny Weasley wished to look into the mirror before her soul was abducted from her body and see what she desired most in the world: her friends, family and freedom. Death would not come for the redhead anytime soon, so she knew it would be a long time before she was properly reunited with her lost ones, and she wished to see them one last time. She was starting to forget the little details: the way George cocked his eyebrow when confused, Hermione's flushed cheeks, the length of Bill's scar.

The mirror had been destroyed long ago, but shards of it were known to have survived. It was said that they were being traded on the black markets in Knockturn Alley. They were particularly sought after during the war when people needed to see a little of what they were fighting for, and for the times when you needed a corporeal vision of your dreams and desires. Draco hadn't really thought Ginny would have been the type of witch to use false hope and aids to keep her faith unwavering, but her light was dimming. She no longer exuded the fire that had once flowed through her.

Draco had exhausted nearly all of his contacts and favours, but he had, for an exceptionally large fee, found a piece of the ancient mirror. It was wrapped in maroon velvet and stored in a secret drawer in his father's old mahogany desk. He wasn't certain he wanted to give it to Ginny, and he didn't know why that was. Perhaps it was because if she were so desperate and lonely, she would not fight the Dementor's Kiss; she would welcome the silence of having no soul. However, if only minutes before she'd seen her family beckoning to her from the mirror, maybe she would suffer more. Furthermore, what if her deepest desire was not what she thought it was? What if it was something entirely more selfish and primitive?

Most of all, Draco was not willing to grant her last request because he did not want Ginny to have to be forced to have a last request. The one remaining Weasley was the key to memories of his past; she was his freedom. In her captivity she awarded him escape. She had become so interwoven into his life, and he hadn't even realised it was happening.

Draco slept uneasy that night. The dark red package beneath his pillow was weighing heavily on his mind.

Ox-

As Ginny scratched the final line into her cell wall, she was overcome with a sort of clarity. It was as though the prospect of losing herself entirely had returned her completely to her senses. Grief seemed fresh once more, as did her tenacity to survive, fight and avenge. It was like being woken up after months of sleepwalking through the motions of staying alive and survival. She had thirty minutes before the guards would come to collect her and escort her to her fate.

Ginny longed for death and for a final end to the suffering. She envied those that had died before her, those she'd loved who'd been shot down in battle. She would be left to linger and suffer until the end of her days. The one silver lining was that she would no longer be aware of what she was being subjected.

She found herself wondering who would be there to witness the Kiss being performed. Would Draco watch as she disappeared into the abyss? She had grown sort of attached to the blond who'd been visiting her these past few months. She'd become accustomed to his presence, his posh British accent, his silky robes and serpentine stance. She had never understood why he came, but she was glad he did. Having that human presence in her cell had reminded her of the life she'd once lived: a time of Hogwarts and Yule Balls and disastrous Valentine's Day surprises for Harry Potter. Draco Malfoy reminded her of a past life in which she had laughed and enjoyed being alive. Whatever his reasons for being with her in her cell so often, she didn't really care; she just found that, in the end, she was happy he was there.

Ox-

Since the Dementors had been placed into Azkaban, it had been an old wizarding tradition that if a prisoner were to receive the Kiss then he or she was allowed one person to hold their hand as they sat manacled to the chair. This was partly because it was felt proper to give a person, no matter their crime, the chance of comfort in their last few moments, and also because a Dementor would have more to feed on were the prisoner a little more relaxed and in the presence of a loved one as opposed to alone and terrified of what was about to happen. Ginny presumed that this tradition would have been discontinued given the current state of the Ministry. Besides that, she had no one's hand to grip. All those she'd seek solace in were no longer in this world.

Thus she was very touched and astonished to see Draco Malfoy with a dishevelled mop of white-blond hair standing next to the old metal chair. He looked stony and stoic, but the granite exterior seemed to be simply masking the sea of emotions tearing away inside of him. In his hand was a scrap of red velvet.

The seemingly faceless guard sat the redhead in the chair. The chains on the arms and legs bound her in place; they were tight and brutal, cutting into her flesh. She looked up and through the glass windows and saw the Dark Lord himself gleefully watching as the last of the Order was sentenced to a fate worse than death. Ginny knew Draco would not find life easy once some of Voldemort's inner circle had seen him with her, and the blond soared even higher in her estimations. This unlikely camaraderie had thawed her heart a little in a way she hadn't thought possible. There was still a little humanity in England. Perhaps not all was lost.

She felt his fingers find hers and tighten around them. As the Dementor entered the room, the temperature dropped even further. The air felt clammy and moist; it was full of anxiety, dread and fear. She could feel all those moments of happiness in her life ebbing away from her very foundations. Memories started to flood into her mind. All she could see were countless faces of those she'd loved and fought alongside, dying. The tears began to fall.

To her left she felt Draco's weight shift and, as the Dementor began to advance, the blond held up the shard of mirror to her eye line. It took a moment for the mirror to begin to work, but after a few seconds the picture began to form.

Draco watched as, for the first time since he'd seen her as a teenager, Ginevra Weasley smiled.

And then she was gone forever.

Ox-

This was an entry in The DG Forum's Fall 2011 Fic Exchange. It won Best One Shot Overall and came in joint first with two other entries for Best Fanfiction Overall. How flipping exciting.

It was beta'd at the last minute by the wonderful Kim, lifesaver that she is and was inspired by and written for Lizz and her prompt.

Lizz's Prompt (3)
Basic Premise: The Death Eaters have won the war, and for her crimes against the new state, Ginny is imprisoned in Azkaban. Her only visitor is Draco Malfoy, who is increasingly desperate to be given a valuable magic token before the Dementors steal her mind.
Must Haves: Angst; the token as a physical object of immense power.
No-no's: Romance; having Draco and Ginny suddenly fall in love; Ginny as a redemptive figure/Draco discovering the error of his ways (before it's too late.)
Rating Range: T-M
Bonus Points: Mentions of Bellatrix/Voldemort; if Ginny believes Tom Riddle is still haunting her (extra bonus points if he actually is.)